


All These Thoughts Locked Inside

by ohmywhy



Category: Glee RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-18
Updated: 2014-08-18
Packaged: 2018-02-13 15:17:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2155362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmywhy/pseuds/ohmywhy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>Prompt:</b> okay so i don’t know if you take prompt ideas but what do you think about some chris angst where he overhears some stupid comment and starts to think what if he is just a experiment with a expiration day for darren but he does not talk about that to him but it all keeps building til one day he snaps and then some reassurance and fluff from darren.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All These Thoughts Locked Inside

**Author's Note:**

> I really loved writing this. I hope you guys love it too. The title is from the All-American Rejects’ _It Ends Tonight_ , which is also mentioned briefly in the story.

“Well, we all know Darren’s just _experimenting_. I mean, he’s straight. His thing with Chris is just him being… _Darren_ and trying out new things. It won’t last.”

His heart sinks. Drops. Falls. Descends into a deep, dark abyss and collides headfirst with the bottom, shattering. Breaking into a million minuscule pieces that are impossible to repair. A stranger pulls it out of his chest and squeezes it tightly in her fist, crushing it, destroying his only lifeline. Her words pierce his chest, and it tightens around an emptiness. There’s a lump in his throat, and his eyes sting, and he runs, not walks, out of the party. He doesn’t care. A million paparazzi could follow him and capture his tear-stained face, but he can’t care. How’s he supposed to care about a few pictures when his whole heart has been removed from his body and verbally stomped on?

He doesn’t forget. He can’t.

The words ‘Darren’s just _experimenting_ ’, paired with ‘It won’t last’, swirl around in his head as he paces outside, breathing heavily, willing his tears away. He doesn’t tell Darren. Not because he can’t, but for the first time, because he doesn’t want to. Instead, he allows the words, the heartbreaking sentence, to swim inside his mind and poison his brain. He goes on as if nothing’s been said.

When Darren places a gentle hand on his back after finding him outside and asks, eyebrows scrunched with worry, voice mixed with concern, “Are you okay?”, Chris doubts him. He fucking doubts him. He doubts every word Darren’s ever uttered to him, every emotion he’s ever displayed, all their previous conversations, their entire relationship. He looks at Darren and no longer sees _Darren_. His brilliantly talented, gorgeous, shining star Darren. He sees Darren the liar. The man who’s sure to break his heart. And that’s probably what hurts the most.

“I’m fine,” he lies to Darren for what can only be the first time, his own voice breathy, and he knows Darren doesn’t believe it, can probably hear how unnatural it sounds on his tongue, see his red puffy eyes and the dried tear streaks on his cheeks. Darren knows him more than anyone. But he also knows Darren probably has no fucking clue he is the problem, so they both let it go. Don’t they have to?

Except it bubbles up inside of Chris’s chest and darkens his broken pieces for a heart. He looks at Darren and hurts, when he used to love. His heart doesn’t flutter; it screams in agony. And the pain, along with the words and Chris’s own doubt, drives Chris to pull away, stay away, protect himself.

Throughout the following week, he doesn’t pick up all of Darren’s phone calls. Only some sparsely. Darren’s forced to leave voicemails, send confused texts. _Chris, are we okay…? I’m worried. Are you ignoring me?_ Chris, of course, always responds – _Of course. I’m just busy_ – although he’s sitting on his couch alone, although the only thing truly keeping him busy are the toxic thoughts haunting him. Too often, upon dropping his phone, he finds himself muttering, “You don’t really care.” And he continues stomping on his own heart, keeps convincing himself – she was right, she must have been, this was never meant to last. 

He looks for signs in his relationship. And like any man furiously on the hunt, clings to the closest one. He should have known because Darren did this, said this, _didn’t_ say this, _didn’t_ do that. Without Darren knowing, their relationship crumbles right before Chris’s eyes.

After a week, he visits Darren. He figures he has to. If he does, Darren won’t worry and be suspicious. He thinks maybe this is exactly the out Darren needs. He can pretend Chris has just become distant and walk away discreetly. He’ll see him, figure it’s just their relationship, and leave, thinking Chris never knew. Chris never knew that this was all just a damn joke to him. His heart was another piece in the Darren chess game, a move he’d never played, was all too curious to test, but never intended to be his go-to move.

When Darren sees him, however, he embraces him tightly, lifts his chin with a gentle finger, and pushes his lips against Chris’s, moaning softly. “I fucking missed you,” he whispers. “You need to stop being so busy all the time.” And Chris’s heart—the fucking jerk—picks up and races again, gives signs of life that Chris desperately wishes he could kill. He only nods and smiles faintly for Darren, and when Darren scrunches his eyebrows again, face full of apprehension, Chris pretends. The way he does every day as a career.

If he were paid for this performance, it’d be his biggest haul yet. He pretends to the best of his abilities, putting on a smile and painting himself in love.

The words, however, still sit dark and heavy in his chest. For two more weeks, they sit.

He cries himself to sleep. Even when Darren’s right beside him. The paint chips away every night.

His problem is that no matter how broken his heart may be, every single piece lights up with his love for Darren. And no matter how much love those million pieces emanate, no glue can mend the thought ‘This will end. This was always supposed to end. He just wanted to know what it was like to be with a guy. He doesn’t love me like I love him’. Darren doesn’t change. If anything, he clings more. He holds Chris at night, kisses him in the morning, calls him ‘handsome’ and ‘gorgeous’ before work, makes ‘love’ to him when he comes home. It’s Chris who’s changed. Those stranger’s words have changed him, and suddenly, Darren’s everything is all an act to him.

And damn it, if Darren isn’t truly the best actor he has ever met. Fooled him right into love.

Chris has had to live with bubbled up emotions before, has had to hold his tongue and swallow his words and never explode, which is why it surprises him when he can’t pull himself together and contain his feelings that night. But then again, he’s never known how to hide his emotions around Darren.

It’s dark, and he doesn’t know what wills him to ask the question. Maybe it’s the song playing on the radio – _your subtleties, they strangle me_ – or the darkness itself, always pulling the truth out of him, but suddenly, hands on the wheel, he’s turning to look at Darren, and the question is rolling right off of his tongue. “When was— uh…” He clears his throat. “When was the first time you did something with a guy?”

They’re in the car on their way back to Chris’s house after a long Glee meeting, and Darren’s feet are up on the dashboard, his head resting on his arm against the door. Chris is sure Darren sees no harm in answering the question, so nonchalantly, he responds, “In college. I thought I told you this.” Chris shakes his head. “Second semester of freshman year. I was just experimenting.”

And it’s that word, that _damn_ word again, that breaks Chris. It’s as if Darren himself has gripped the knife in his heart and twisted it. Chris focuses his eyes on the road, and suddenly, he’s struggling hard to hold back his tears, and he sniffs quietly. But, apart from the soft music playing, the car is so silent that Darren hears him, looks at him, and sits up straight, obviously worried.

“Chris, what…? What did I say?”

“Nothing,” he lies, but even as he’s saying it, he knows Darren won’t let this one go. “I’m fine. Just… runny nose. Allergies. It was stuffy in the office.”

“No, stop. That’s not fucking true, and you know it. Why won’t you tell me what the hell is going on? You think I haven’t noticed you’re not okay? It’s been _weeks_ —”

“I’m _fine_ , Darren!” Chris yells, and Darren sits back again, defeated, throws his feet up on the dashboard, and ignores Chris, looking out the car window. The air is heavy with tension and remains so until they pull up into Chris’s driveway, and then suddenly, Darren is slamming the car door and racing into the house, Chris on his heel. Chris gestures towards his bedroom, but in the living room, Darren turns towards him, arms crossed over his chest, and says, “You’re going to tell me why you’re upset.”

“I told you I’m fi—”

“Bullshit.” And Chris rolls his eyes, crosses his own arms over his chest, and sighs heavily. “Bullshit, Chris. Two weeks ago, you were ignoring all of my phone calls and you didn’t want to see me—”

“I told you I was busy!”

“You once told me you were never too busy for me.” With those words, Chris finally looks into Darren’s eyes — _really_ looks — and he sees his own hurt replicated, Darren’s honey gold eyes full with his own unexpressed pain. Chris almost believes it. _Almost_. But he hears – “We all know Darren’s just experimenting” – again, and this time, in his mind, Darren says it. And the knife pushes in deeper, and he shakes his head and looks down at the ground, avoiding those expressive eyes. They’re all lies, anyway.

“So, what’s it gonna be?” Darren continues. “Are you going to keep lying to me and hiding something or are you going to tell me?”

“I have nothing to tell you,” he responds and crosses the room in three quick strides, motioning towards his bedroom again. But Darren stops him as they cross paths, gripping Chris’s arm and turning his body towards him to face him.

“Chris, I thought we were always honest with each other.”

“Are we?” Chris sneers, and as soon as the words are out, he regrets them, wants to take them back. Hurt flashes deep in Darren’s eyes, and Chris is both too hurt himself and too weak to face it, so he pulls his arm out of Darren’s grip and motions to turn, but he’s pulled back by the look on Darren’s face. Because try as he might, it still hurts him deeply to know he’s the cause of Darren’s pain. And he desperately wants to tell himself Darren doesn’t reciprocate, but the Darren he knows pulls at his heartstrings, and suddenly, Chris’s resolve melts beneath that gaze.

“Are you just _experimenting_ with me?” His voice uncontrollably cracks. “Is that what all of this is? Your sick way of figuring out you’re really straight? Because you made me believe all of this.”

Darren reaches for Chris’s arm, but this time, his touch is gentle, caring. “ _What_ are you talking about?”

“Your friend’s birthday party a few weeks ago? I approached her to wish her a happy birthday, but she was talking to someone about us, and I overheard her say that _this_ won’t last because you are straight and just being Darren and experimenting. And if that’s what you’ve been doing, Darren, I can’t forgive you for something like that.”

“Are you kidding me?” Suddenly, Darren’s face is nothing but disbelief, and he’s letting go of Chris’s arm. “How can you believe something like that? You really think that of me?”

Chris doesn’t respond, honestly can’t, feels his tongue tied to the roof of his mouth, his lips glued shut. He thinks – maybe before he went on an angry rampage about his relationship, he should have sat down and really thought about the Darren he knew. But, how can Darren possibly blame him? What is he to believe when this is practically the same message the rest of the world’s been sending him? His one friend’s comment gave way for the avalanche, not created it. How was he supposed to feel? What reaction was Darren expecting?

Darren isn’t one to hide and avoid his emotions, but Chris’s silence leaves him reeling, and he walks away, leaves to the bedroom. Chris stands in the living room by himself for five minutes, heart racing, mind racing with thoughts, before he follows. Darren’s tucked himself into bed, back facing Chris’s side, so Chris does the same. And that night, he cries himself to sleep because he thinks, maybe this wasn’t so temporary, and if it does turn out to be, it could very well be his fault for overreacting.

But, he wonders, how else was he supposed to feel? There’s only so many times people can repeat the same comment before he starts to believe them.

He’s hardly realized he’s asleep before he’s being woken up around 2 a.m. by a strong pair of arms, wrapping tightly around his waist, a pair of lips near his ear.

“I’m sorry,” he hears, and in his groggy state, he forgets what Darren has to be sorry for. Instead, he laces his hands with Darren’s and pushes his body back into his embrace. He moans softly when it finally clicks, but he doesn’t take back his affections.

“This is not some experimenting thing for me,” Darren confesses, and his voice sounds steady, firm, awake. Like he’s been thinking about this for hours. Chris’s heart picks up its pace. “You are not some joke to me, some sick way for me to prove something about myself. I don’t care about that shit, and some asshole at a party shouldn’t make you think otherwise. I was done with all that experimenting crap a long time ago. I know what I want, and that is you. I love you. You know that. You have to know that.”

Chris nods softly, and though his eyes are on their joint hands, he can practically see Darren speaking, his face a revealing canvas of every word and emotion.

“Sometimes,” Chris admits, and once again, he feels the intimacy of the dark pushing him towards honesty, “I’m afraid the rest of the world is right, and this isn’t going to last. Everybody always says it, you know? I overhear it when they see us together, stupid comments on Instagram pictures, or equally dumb tweets, and I don’t know.” He shrugs. “It gets to me. So, however much of an asshole she may be, her confirming it just pushed me to an edge I didn’t know I was standing on. And I don’t like the thought of this being temporary. Everything’s already so fleeting in Hollywood; I like to think this won’t be.”

“It won’t,” Darren confirms, and he squeezes Chris’s hand. Chris realizes how easy and tame their discussion is, and although he likes to think it’s just them, he knows the quiet, friendly dark has something to do with it.

“I love you,” Chris whispers, and he turns in Darren’s arms, placing his own around Darren’s neck. “I love you so much.”

Darren moves his hands to the small of Chris’s back, rubbing him soothingly, softly. “Mm, me too. I love you too.” He leans in, pressing their foreheads together. “Nothing is set in stone. But you and I… Feels pretty forever to me. You know what the best part about the rest of the world is?” 

“What?”

“They’re not us. They’re not you. They’re not me. They can say whatever the fuck they want, run their mouths about what they think happens between us, but only you and I know what this is. So, please stop believing other idiots’ dumb remarks. Always come to me first before you start blowing me off. Unless, you know, it’s the other kind of blowing me off… You can always surprise me with those.”

“Darren!” Chris hits his shoulder, pulling away, but when they’re both busy laughing, Darren pulls him back in, holding their bodies tightly together. “We were having a _real_ conversation about our relationship. And we’re not done talking. God.”

“What? I thought we had moved onto the make-up sex portion.”

“You were gonna get make-up sex until you made a dumb joke. Now you don’t get anything. Just sleep.”

“Is that right?” Darren remarks, voice low and seductive, and Chris knows what he’s up to before he even does it but is somehow still caught by surprise when Darren runs his hand down Chris’s thigh and firmly grips his leg and hooks it over his waist. As Darren thrusts forward sharply, Chris groans.

Voice gravelly, Chris reacts. “Oh god.” Darren thrusts forward again, their groins meeting hastily.

“You were saying?” Darren asks, although his voice too is obviously tainted with desire.

“Just fuck me, you jerk.”

“I thought so.”


End file.
